


Spies Like Us (cuz I'm soooo original, yo)

by bitten



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Gen, Shoulda been epic...but ran out of steam, This plot bunny committed suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 04:13:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4905079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitten/pseuds/bitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a dead story, plot bunny jumped off a cliff (it was a bridge, actually)...I had a plot and that bitch escaped my clutches, dernit! In other words, no real beginning, some middle, and then no end...do not read if you want an actual resolution!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spies Like Us (cuz I'm soooo original, yo)

Nate looked down at the sleeping figure. The larger man had been shot twice and had been running a fever, but Nate was pretty sure he would be alright. My worst enemy, Nate thought to himself. And now he found himself hoping for a speedy recovery, because he had a feeling he was going to need Brad.

 

 

They had faced each other on the bridge, in the rain, the night dark except for the flashes of lightening. For years they had circled each other, one of them always one step behind, each falling prey to the others feints, it was always being in the wrong place or at the wrong time. But not this time. They were evenly matched and it had finally come down to this. Here it would end. Colbert gave him a shark's grin, which Nate matched. "About time you caught up, Fick."  
Nate opened his mouth to speak, but simultaneously he heard two sharp cracks as Colbert's smile turned into a look of shock. He looked at Nate for a moment before tumbling backwards off the bridge, into the rushing water far below. Nate whipped around, McGraw was inexplicably there, his gun still raised.  
"Dave what the fuck?" Nate growled as he looked over the bridge. It was too dark to see if Colbert's body was down there. He was...infuriated. Colbert's ass was his, dammit, he'd been waiting for this moment for...  
"Turn around, Nate." McGraw's voice was low, and Nate realized Brad Colbert may not be the only target on this mission.

 

When he hit the water he was almost thrown into shock by the cold, but at least he wasn't shot. He forced his head above the icy water, gasping, already knowing that the bridge was too high up, the night was too dark and the storm was too violent for Dave to see or hear him now. They would assume his body was swept away, but that wouldn't stop them from checking, thoroughly. Considering his own bosses had just tried to have him taken out, the list of places he could go and people he could trust has just gown considerably shorter than he would have thought. But not non-existent. Nate Fick was a professional, and he always had a back-up plan or three.   
He dragged himself to the river bank, shivering, and just as he was pulling himself up he saw him, just a few feet away, arms and head resting on rocks, the rest of his body still laying in the freezing water, as if he had started to climb out and then just given up.  
Shit.  
"Colbert!" Nate shouted, but the man lay still. Nate cursed and trudged over to him. He knew it could be a trick, but the blonde had been shot before the fall, Nate had seen that himself. He roughly turned his nemesis over. Eyes closed, lips turning blue. Nate checked for and found a pulse. He shook the man and called his name again, but there was no response. Nate knew he should leave him here, maybe snap his neck and push him back in the water but...despite their history and the animosity between them, that would be a coward's way. Brad Colbert was too skilled an opponent to take advantage of like this. Besides, if what McGraw had said before he thought he'd killed Nate was true, it wasn't just Nate who had been betrayed. It was both of them. And the two of them together...Nate's lips thinned out into a grim line. "Goddammit," he muttered, before lifting the larger man onto his shoulder, grunting under the weight. "You're giant Viking ass better appreciate this."

 

It had taken almost 24 hours to get to the house Nate had ready for just this type of situation, the timeline much extended by virtue of the fact that Nate was dragging an unconscious, 6'5" assassin along with him, and oh yeah, both of them were suppose to be dead. But they'd made it and after Nate had dumped his cargo in the spare bedroom and checking the stitches he'd put in himself, he had flopped onto the couch and finally tried to figure it all out. For some reason, the agency had decided he had become a liability, despite the fact that he was one of, if not thee, top employee they had. Colbert's employer had come to the same conclusion, and they had joined forces to accomplish the goal, taking out two birds with one stone, so to say. Nate was pretty sure this was a direct result of the threat the two of them presented. Nate worked for a clandestine govt. agency. Colbert...didn't. For whatever reason, the two were merging, which meant Colbert and Fick had to be taken out because...they knew too much? This was where Nate got stumped. He had his opinions, but he kept them to himself. He had accepted his role in the agency long ago.  
Not that it really mattered why, Nate thought as he checked to make sure the weapons he kept hidden in random places throughout the house were there, intact and loaded. They were. For the moment both he and Colbert were considered dead. The house they were in was untraceable to him. He had plenty of money, and several identities, stashed away. Decisions would have to be made. But for now he...they, were safe.

 

Brad woke up slowly. The faint light in coming in through the closed drapes hurt his eyes, causing him to wince and turn his head, which sent off a string of aches and pains throughout his body. He took a deep breath and forced his eyes slowly open.  
And saw Nate Fick sitting in a chair just a few feet away, staring at him calmly.  
Well this was completely fucked.   
Ignoring the pain that shot through his body, from his head all the way down to his feet, Brad shot out of bed. He swayed slightly on his feet, but Nate was standing now, and Brad got into a stance, ready to fight.  
Nate held up his hands, palms out.  
"I'd slow down if I was you," his voice was as calm as his eyes. Brad, with no idea where he was or what was happening, felt more than slightly disadvantaged.  
"What the fuck is going on?" he demanded, glad his voice sounded steady, though not as steely as usual, and his throat burned.  
"Concussion. Two gun shots, flesh wounds, but you lost a lot of blood. Couple cracked ribs. Not to mention a rather long fall into freezing water. And you've had a fever for 48 hours. Calm down," Fick still had his hands up, and he hadn't advanced, but Brad wasn't really feeling calm. "I'll explain. I don't want to fight you. I saved your life, actually." Nate flopped back down into the chair and gestured to the bed. "You should sit. Before you fall."  
Brad shook his head once, but his body started to relax. What was this? Why wasn't Fick trying to kill him? Wait...hadn't they been trying to kill each other just a little while ago? Brad felt a little dizzy, and weak, and the adrenalin was starting to wear off. Fick's suggestion to sit on the bed was starting to seem like a good idea. He did, warily.  
Fick leaned down, causing Brad to stiffen, but he grabbed a bottle of water out of a cooler at his feet and set it on the bed, gesturing at it. "Drink first. You're dehydrated."  
Brad narrowed his eyes, considering, then grabbed the bottle, twisted off the cap and downed most of it in one gulp. As he finished Fick handed him a second bottle. When he had drunk half of that he forced himself to stop, not wanting to sick it up. He immediately felt better, or at least good enough. He narrowed his eyes at the man sitting across from. "Alright Fick, spit it out. What the fuck happened on that bridge?"

Nate kept his explanation short and concise. He explained what he thought had happened, and the little he had been able to find out without exposing his continued existence. Hacking into the agency's mainframe wasn't that hard considering he'd been doing it for years. Their respective bosses had indeed merged, for reasons Nate hadn't yet been able to discern, though he couldn't see any good coming of it. Officially they had both been declared "inactive." Unofficially they were both considered dead. No one knew where they were. No one knew they were alive. If anyone found out they would both be hunted down. Nate still didn't have a clear idea why any of this had happened.  
Brad's employer's, which he referred to as "the company," and Nate's own bosses, had had conflicting interests for, well, since forever. It was one of the reasons the two assassins had always hated each other. Nate's work, though not for the tender-hearted, had always been for the greater good. Brad's hadn't. Still, they now found themselves in the same predicament, and once he convinced Brad he wasn't lying, which involved pulling up satellite photos, private documents and few other things on the computer, they stared at each other.  
"Fuck," Colbert said, finally. "I never thought I'd be on the same side as you, Fick."  
Nate smirked but let it go. He felt pretty much the same way. "You should eat. I'll get you something."  
"I'm fine," the blonde protested, even though he unconcsiously licked his lips at the thought of food, his stomach suddenly rumbling loudly.  
Nate sighed as he exited the room. "Yeah, whatever. I"m hungry. Bathroom first on the right. There's clothes that should fit you in the closet. Half an hour." Nate walked out of the room without looking back.

Brad tilted his head down, letting the hot water and steam envelope him. He was sore as fuck, covered in cuts and bruises, and he really didn't care if his stitches got wet, though he made a nominal effort at shielding them. After his shower he brushed his teeth with the brush still in its package and pulled on the jeans and t-shirt he'd retrieved from the closet. Fick was right, they fit. He didn't bother with underwear or socks, fuck it. He looked at himself in the mirror. He looked...almost as bad as he felt. All he really wanted to do was climb back into bed and sleep for about a week, the only thing stopping him was his mind reeling from what he'd recently learned...and what appeared to be a very angry hole with very sharp teeth tearing away at his stomach.  
The smell assaulted his nose as soon as he opened the bathroom door. He wasn't sure what it was but it was...fuck, it was food, cooked food. The tooth monster in his gut growled in anticipation.  
Brad limped into the kitchen. Fick was at the stove, his back to Brad. Even in his weakened state, Brad could kill him in seconds. He found it strange that he didn't necessarily want to, at least not right now. Fick turned around and acutally smiled. He looked twelve. "Good, dinner's ready. Sit."  
Brad did as he was told and Nate put a plate heaped with food down in front of him. "You should go slow, it's been a few days..."  
Brad was already shoveling the food into his mouth. Nate sat across from him, a slightly amused expression on his face as Brad actually moaned, his eyes slipping closed for a moment as he savored the taste of meat on his tongue. He was working on his second plate before Nate spoke again.  
"You really should pace yourself, Colbert. You haven't eaten for days. I didn't slave over a hot stove just to watch you throw up."  
Brad looked at him sharply, but Nate still looked like he'd just heard a joke. And he couldn't really deny the truth behind Nate's words. Despite the fact that he'd been starving a short time ago, his shrunken stomach was already feeling somewhat full. And the idea of getting sick in front of Nate fucking Fick, especially since he still wasn't sure what had happened over the last few days, didn't sit too well with him. He dropped his fork to his plate.  
"So, what's the plan then?"  
Fick blinked. "I don't have one." He took a bite, Brad noticed only his lips, not his teeth, touched the fork.  
Wait...what?  
"Well...we should work on that." Suddenly Brad felt tired, more than tired. His...everything, hurt. He was sitting in a kitchen, somewhere, with the one man he'd wanted to kill for years, who had just cooked him an amazing dinner. Brad's vision swam and he blinked rapidly, trying to clear his head. Fick was suddenly next to him, grabbing onto his arm, which Brad was suddenly grateful for, without it he might just fall of his chair. He heard, and immediately regretted, a small moan that he was sure came out of him.  
"Come on," Fick was pulling him upwards until he was on his feet, and Brad almost didn't care that he was leaning on the other man...it was that or hitting the floor. "You need to sleep." Brad felt himself propelled somewhere, he assumed the bedroom he had left not so long ago.  
" 'mm fine," Brad mumbled as he let himself be lead along. Something was wrong with his eyes, everything seemed...really dark...and space had suddenly become circular instead of linear which was...weird...he started to fall, but there were strong arms holding him up the last few feet it took to get them to the bed, and then his head was on something soft and his legs were being lifted in the bed. Brad felt a warm comforter pulled up around him. He forced his eyes open one more time and saw someone...Fick, oh shit, what the fuck is Fick doing here, where am I...and heard the other man's voice...You need to rest now. Go to sleep, we're safe here...and then Brad knew no more.


End file.
